Go Together
by OxIzzyxO
Summary: It is important to find that one person you go together with; especially so for a certain hot-headed werewolf. Paul/OC. Rated for extensive use of foul language and for later chapters.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Maggie. **

** Go Together: Prologue **

Sam sighed and rubbed his palms over his forehead as he eased himself down into the kitchen chair. "What's wrong?" Emily asked, drying her hands on an old dish towel. Sam moaned in distress and Emily dropped the towel onto the counter, moving to drape her arms over his shoulders, pressing her chest into his back.

"Trouble with Paul," Sam mumbled.

"Hmm?" Emily hummed into the back of Sam's neck. "Again?"

"I _cannot _wait until Paul imprints. That kid needs to be put in his place by someone."

"And what makes you think a girl could do it?"

"That's just how powerful it is," Sam said as he ran his hands up and down Emily's arms. "Imprinting can do anything."


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. **

** Go Together: Chapter One **

I fucking _hate _school.

And not the way everyone else does, because honestly? I couldn't care less about my grades, or homework. The hours kind of bother me, but that's a universal complaint.

No, what really bothers me, is _teachers. _They think that just because they get to stand at the front of the room and yap on and on about something no one is ever going to use later in life, that they're some sort of god. They think that whoever steps foot into their territory is automatically under they're complete control. They think that just because someone doesn't give a rat's ass (like myself) that person "needs their help".

My math teacher, for example. Not that Mr. Allen is a bad guy, per say, he is just so fucking _controlling. _Every detail has to be right with him. I even watched a chick get detention from him because she put her name in the left corner of her paper instead of the right. Something about "failing to follow direction" or some other bullcrap.

Another thing that bothers me about Mr. Allen: he gives us new assigned seats at the beginning of every month.

I mean, why can't he be like a normal teacher and leave us alone until the next semester? Or at least until we fuck it up for ourselves? But, no. "Change is good" he says "It'll keep you out of trouble" he says "Paul-I see you sleeping!" he says.

So, now that it's the beginning of May, we get moved around _one last time _until we graduate and I can leave this hell-hole.

Mr. Allen's drone seemed to add to the tension as we all waited to see who we would be spending the next month with on the double seated tables. There were three rows of tables: four to the right, four in the center, and four to the left. Normally, I wouldn't really care who I sat next to, but in this class it was different. You see, there are twenty-four seats, and only twenty-three students. Every month, some lucky sucker would get a whole table to themselves. This time, I really hope it's me; especially since Mr. Allen tends to put that person in the back of the room.

"...Jared Cameron, and Marty Ricker..." I cringed and gave Jared an apologetic look. Poor douche got stuck with Ricker the Picker. At least he's in the third row to the left; that side as windows. Mr. Allen moved to the very back table on the left. "...Paul Lahote..." fuck, _please _put me alone! "...and Maggie Dove." Shit.

At least I got a good seat. Not the window, but whatever. Who was Maggie Dove, anyway? I'd never even met the chick, or seen her for that matter, but I've heard her name while taking role in class; so I know she's not new.

Come to think about it, I think we used to share her goldfish during lunch in kindergarten...

I moved to take my seat, setting my backpack down beside me. A moment or so later, I could hear her moving behind me to take her own seat. The sent of ginseng and something like the old, dusty books my grandma used to keep in a box flooded my nose as she set down her own bag. I didn't even glance at her, instead choosing to stare at the blank board at the front of the room.

"Now socialize for a few. Get to know the person you'll be spending the rest of your high school career with!" Mr. Allen said as the last person was in their seat. I glared at the asshole who sat alone at the very back of the right side of the room.

I looked back up at the board and waited for the girl next to me to strike up a conversation. (What? I'm not lazy, I'm just not a people person.)

Nothing.

I waited for about another three minutes or so before becoming both curious and irritated, and turning to look at the individual next to me.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably as the gravity changed about me, turning and coming to face the small, delicate creature before me. Her russet skin was flawless, save for the beauty mark below her right eye. But the mark only made her even more lovely, and drew more attention to her soft, brown eyes, framed with dark, thick lashes. Her pitch-black hair ran down her back in thick, wavy locks, and her squared off bangs had obviously not been trimmed in a while, and nearly covered her eyes. She was thin and small, and hunched over herself ever-so-slightly. Her light blue, long sleeved shirt was a couple sizes too big, and she clutched her elbows in a shy way, her head tipped down.

She turned towards me, and, upon seeing me staring back at her, snapped her eyes back to the front of the room and bit her plump, oh-so-tempting lower lip as a blush colored her cheeks. I smiled at her bashfulness. Now that she was aware of me watching her, she seemed to tense up even more-to curl in on herself ever so slightly.

_Say something, moron. _

"I'm Paul."

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, before stuttering "M-Maggie."

At her compliance, I eagerly stuck out my right hand. Surprised by the quick motion, Maggie flinched back. She stared at my hand for a minute or so, then looked into my eyes. God, what _fucking beautiful _eyes. Like some sort of deep pool of warmth and life. I could just stare at them until I died of starvation or some other shit. While I was lost in hr gaze, she moved slowly and slipped her petite hand into my own. It took a lot of strength not to close my eyes and moan at the feel of her skin on mine, and a new kind of uncomfortable washed over me when I had to let go.

Mr. Allen started the class soon after, and I spent the rest of the period watching Maggie out of the corner of my eye. Eventually, the bell rang signaling the fact that it was time to move our asses to out next class. My heart dropped slightly as I watched her gather her things and leave me in the math room, but I was just fine with observing the conservative way she walked and gulping in her sent as she passed me.

Oh God, I'm in love.

…...Oh _God _I've _imprinted! _

_ ….Fuck! _


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**I know, I know. I haven't updated in forever. (I'm such an awful person) But I really appreciate the support and favorites/subscribers I've gotten.**

**P.S. I **_**may**_** have gone a little overboard with the language in this chapter. Sorry. **

** Go Together: Chapter Two**

Two weeks.

Two goddamn-shitting-mother-fucking _weeks_ of sitting next to Maggie.

And she still won't talk to me.

What the fuck?

I'm not mad at her, (as if I ever could be) I just wanna know what the hell I'm doing wrong so I can fix it. I just don't understand why she won't talk to me.

Is it something I said? No, I'm always nice, if not outright gentlemanly towards her. Which is kinda hard for me, by the way. I alway say goodmorning to her, I lent her a pen when she couldn't find one in her bag (she hadn't said anything about it, but she spent like five minutes sifting around, it was kinda fucking obvious), I try to keep the foul language at a minimun around her, and I even pull out her chair for her sometimes! No, I have been a good boy. It has to be something else.

...Aw fuck. Is it because of the whole 'gang' thing? 'Cause if it is, and she doesn't want to 'get involved' I will track down the first douche bag who ever said that and and break their fucking neck. It's really stupid anyway. I mean come on! Drug dealers? Who the hell came up with that shit?

I stalbbed at the pile of fries on my tray. It was too crowded to do anything else in the cafeteria, and I needed to let my anger out somehow. Seth stared at me curiously from across the table, the little creep. My brothers had senced my bad mood, and had pretty much been leaving me alone. And why, you ask, am I not trying to fix things over with Maggie at lunch? Because I can't fucking find her. Some werewolf I am, I don't even know where my mate is. I've looked for her, believe me; I just can't _find _her. Goddamnit.

"Well, Paul," Jared, who was pretty much the only person in the pack I could stand, sat in the empty seat next to me with a stack of papers in one hand, and Kim's hand in the other, "Since you're pretty much a failure by yourself, I've taken the liberty of gathering some information on Maggie." The pack knows I've imprinted. It's kinda hard to keep something like that to yourself with the whole 'mind communication' thing going on.

I slammed my fist on the table. "You've done _what?" _ What the fuck?

"Yeah, Jared. I thought stalking her was Paul's job," Jake grinned as he mocked me, the little ass. The thought still had my blood boiling, though.

"You've been _stalking _her?" I swear to God I will rip his fucking throat out-

"Paul. She's my neighbor."

..._What?_

"What?"

"Yeah, she's lived next to me for as long as I can remember. The blue house." Next to Jared's was a small, two story house painted robin egg blue, with white trim and a willow tree in the front yard. The curtains that shield the inside from view are a light cream, and there is an old wooden rocking chair on the porch. I may not know much about her, but her living there made a lot of sence.

"Here." Jared handed me the papers.

I skipped the rest of school that day doing something no one ever thought I would skip school to do; read.

Read about the love of my life, but read none the less.

The list was almost three pages long. Hand written, of course, in Jared's crap hand writing. And as I skimmed over the facts, I found myself agreeing with most of them...kinda.

_She loves the color blue. _It's an awesome color.

_Her favorite fruit is cherries._ I like cherries.

_She is an only child._ If that means no annoying siblings to deal with, than I have no problems with that.

_She's afraid of clowns._ Clowns are stupid anyway.

_She's afraid of large birds._ Peacocks are just unnatrual.

_She loves orange juice._ Every sane person does.

_She gets occasional nose-bleeds._ Do they hurt? Is she okay?

_She loves chinese food._ Of course. It's delicous.

_She's lived in LaPush her entire life._ Best place in the world.

_She likes to draw._ It's a useful skill.

_She wants to major in art while in college._ An inspiring goal.

_She's terrefied of us._

...What?

Ah, fuck.


End file.
